


Goodbye, Sunshine

by narwalish



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Friendship, M/M, Platonic Love, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narwalish/pseuds/narwalish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his mother answers, with tears forming in her usually bright brown eyes, I get it. I push past her and she doesn't resist as I run up to his room and slam the door open. He should be here, in bed. He's just tripped while walking downstairs again and broken his leg like he did when we were 12. We laughed for three weeks. His mum took a picture as I drew cowboys and astronauts on his cast.</p><p>But he's not in his bed.<br/>He's not hiding behind the door, or in the cupboard. I fall to my knees, and I make the first sound I've made since this morning.</p><p>I scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye, Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I do this to myself. Why can't I write HAPPY JeanMarco Fics for once?!

Every day is pretty mundane I guess. Like a broken record, if you want to be cliche about it. I go to school, get shit done, then leave. But it's kinda nice in the way that I've got my best friend by my side the whole time. Yeah, we've been best friends since we were little kids, when my family moved right next door to his. We'd just come over from France and, if I'm honest, I don't know how I would have survived without him. He helped me with my English, and became my only friend. We were 6.

He's always been there for me, you know? Never failed to come to my side when I needed help. I've never been popular, always the loser, but he's always been _that guy_ who you wanted to be friends with because he's handsome and smart and probably the nicest person ever. No one even cared when he came out. In fact, everyone was really proud. We all were.

I can remember this one time when we were at a birthday party. I got excluded from all the games the other kids were playing, but they all wanted _him_ to play. He saw I was getting kicked out, so he ran over and hugged me, refusing to play any games with the others. That cost him pretty much all the popularity he had gained at school. I think one of the mothers took a picture of the two of us, but I can't remember.

My mum has always loved him, like another son. She still loved me, of course, but after I became friends with him she always accidentally said she had _two_ sons instead of just one. Every time, he'd blush. But he never corrected her.

He's spent every Christmas with us these past few years. We always ask if his parents mind, and he always says no. A couple years ago, we bought each other matching hoodies. We didn't mean to, of course, we just saw the same hoodie and thought, _'he'd like that'_ and bought it. Silly coincidence, huh? We both had our arm around each other when my dad took the picture, grinning at each other like we were kids.

Then there was Christmas last year where we got caught under the mistletoe. Everyone else was in the other room, so he just laughed and quickly kissed me on the lips. I only smiled and kissed him back. Somehow, it wasn't romantic. We love each other, sure, but not like my parents love each other, not like the couples in rom-coms do. We're just... Best friends. We had a kiss, and it was perfect. It was perfectly unromantic.

And now we're seventeen years old.  
I'm running to school, late again. He's usually awake by now, but he's not outside my front gate. No doubt, he left without me. We do have a test this morning, after all. I rush through the school and quickly step into my classroom, taking my seat next to him, at the back of the class, except...

He's not there. I frown, but brush it off. He's probably overslept. But... He'd text me, right? I shake my head, because no he might be _sick_. I mean, he is sick. I know he is. Really sick. But... No. He's fine. He's just late or he has the flu. No biggie.

Class has started, and he's still not here. I'm shaking, but I shouldn't be. I'm getting worked up over this. I'm overreacting, that's all. We've started the test. I'm sure he's bunking it.  
But why would he? He's smart, he could do this, I know he could.

I check the clock again. He's 40 minutes late.  
And again. 41 minutes late.  
He's 42 minutes late now.

It's when he's 43 minutes late that the deputy head-teacher walks in. She's usually so professional, so... Why is she crying? No. Stop.  
She's saying something to the teacher, and I can hear a small cry come from her, too. The tears are falling freely down their faces, and my teacher has to walk out. No. Please.

The Deputy Head turns to me, and says my name. She knows who I am. I shake my head because, _no_. It's something about my dad losing his job or my dog dying because it can't be about him. Don't say it's what I think it is. I stand on two trembling legs, walking past everyone. They're all giving me weird looks. I know something they don't and they're _confused_ because _how could that loser be in the know_. I've stepped out of the classroom now, and my mother throws her arms around me. I stare at her, and she looks up at me, I shake my head, and she does the same before slowly craning her neck for a nod.

I don't say anything before I sprint out of the school. I'm going to his house, because he'll be in bed, awake. He's going to grin at me and say 'April Fools' even though it's November. Then we're going to laugh, and he's going to accidentally tell me what he got me for Christmas again like he always does.

I get to the door of his house, and knock as loud as I can. It's always him, complaining about how I'm always so urgent about things. His parents are both always at work.

When his mother answers, with tears forming in her usually bright brown eyes, I get it. I push past her and she doesn't resist as I run up to his room and slam the door open. He should be here, in bed. He's just tripped while walking downstairs again and broken his leg like he did when we were 12. We laughed for three weeks. His mum took a picture as I drew cowboys and astronauts on his cast.

But he's not in his bed.  
He's not hiding behind the door, or in the cupboard. I fall to my knees, and I make the first sound I've made since this morning.

I scream.

I scream because _no, he has to be here_.  
I scream because _he has to be alive_.

I turn as I hear a sniff from the doorway. It's his mother. I didn't realise before that she was wearing black.

"He was suffering from it for so long, Jean. We couldn't have helped him, you know that."  
I whimper, my throat dry. Yes, he was suffering. But only I understood how much. I was the first one he told. I remember when we were 15, and he sat next to me and said it.

"I've got depression, Jean."  
Back then I didn't understand. He was always so _happy_ , but the doctor said that he was sad on the _inside_ after his parents divorced. It was subtle. I had seen the cuts before, but hoped they were cat scratches. It took me a while to tell myself they didn't own a cat.

I got scared after he told me. Every time he accidentally cut his finger with a knife while cutting vegetables, I cried. He'd call me in the middle of the night, sobbing, saying that he didn't like living anymore. I'd always run over and hold him while he cried, and try to sing to him to cheer him up. It worked, a few times.

He called me last night, but he wasn't crying. But he didn't sound happy, either. He just said, "Sing me the song, Jean." And when I had finished, he sighed. What he said next confused me, though.

"Thank you, Jean. I finally think I'm better now."  
And he hung up.

I'm still trembling when his mother hands me a note. It's his handwriting. It says

_'Jean_

_Go to my Video files, and you'll understand_

_X'_

I look up at his mother, and she nods, "that's all he said."

We both knew each other's passwords for everything. He knew I could get onto his laptop, no problem.  
I'm sitting at his desk and I open the laptop, quickly logging on and opening the video folder. There's one video there.

_Jean. This is for you._

I double click the file, and wait.

He's up on the screen, and he's smiling at me. He's sitting on his bed in his favourite grey t-shirt. It was mine first, but I let him keep it. I shudder as I watch the thin dark lines on his arms tremble with each gentle flex of muscle.

_"Hi Jean.  
I-I know I won't be here when you find this. Hopefully mum will give you the note. I... I just wanted to explain._

_You know what's wrong with me, I know because you always choose to describe me as being 'sick'. It always makes me smile, cos you make it sound like I've got a cold or something, like I'm going to get better."_  
  
He sighs, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before looking back at the camera.

_"But... It's sad because I'm not. I'm never going to get better. The doctors say I will, but I won't. There's always going to be this part of me that won't want me to wake up very morning, a little part that's not going to want to go on._

_I-I want to thank you, Jean. For being there. We've been best friends for a long time now, haven't we? I'm going to miss you the most._

_I'll be waiting for you, up there. Well, whatever 'up there' is. I'll still be waiting, no matter what._

_Don't be sad, okay? You're strong! You can get through this! I've been alive all this time because of you, okay? In the wise words of Dr Seuss- 'Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.'_

_Oh god, what's wrong with me. I'm quoting Dr Seuss. I must be mad. Well, I mean, I technically am, but still. Remember how we'd love all those stories when we were kids? My dad used to them to us before we went to bed. I think the Lorax was always your favourite, right?"_  
  
No, you're not mad. Stop saying that. You're just an idiot who liked Dr Seuss, that's all. And anyway, the Lorax was _your_ favourite too.

_"I left you something, under my bed. I spent the last week working on it, so think of it as an early Christmas present, okay?"_

His chocolate brown eyes are starting to fill with tears, but his smile stays strong, his dark freckles pooling into his dimples against his tanned skin.

_"I wanted to do something to cheer you up, so I guess you could say I took a leaf out of your book, eh?"_

He picks up an old acoustic guitar from the floor. _My_ old acoustic guitar. He asked to borrow it about a month ago to practice a song. He never told me which song. He never told me why.

_"I hope I sing it right. Sorry for using your guitar- I wanted to make it special... So... Here goes."_

He starts to play, and I know it. I know every note because I taught him. It's our song.

 _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_  
You make me happy when skies are grey  
You never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away

 _The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping_  
I dreamt I held you in my arms  
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken  
So I hung my head, and I cried

 _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_  
You make me happy when skies are grey  
You never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away

 _I'll always love you and make you happy_  
If you will only say the same  
But if you leave me to love another,  
You'll regret it all one day

 _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_  
You make me happy when skies are grey  
You never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away

_Please don't take my sunshine away"_

There are tears cascading down his cheeks now, and he chokes out the last line.  
I sing it with him.

He smiles at me, his teeth showing. They chatter as he holds back his sobs.

_"I'm going to call you. I'm going to take the pills and then I'll call you. Then, I'll get you to sing that song for me."_

He sniffs, coughing slightly.

_"Because I know that I'll be happy when I go. Isn't that how we all want to go, anyway? Happy?"_

His voice is quaking, but it grows stronger as he takes a deep breath and puts down the guitar.  
He looks up at me.

_"You're my best friend, Jean. And I love you. I always will. Just remember, I was happy. But only for you._

_Goodbye, Sunshine."_

Then he leaned forward, turning the video off.  
I hadn't realised I was crying until I called out for him. Called out for him to turn the video back on, to come back, to come back...  
Come back...

I moved quickly, grabbing what I could from under his bed, pulling out a book. A photo album.  
I sit on his bed as I turn every page, hardly able to believe it.

Every picture ever taken of us. That time he sat with me at the birthday party, that time we bought matching hoodies, the time he broke his leg when we were 12.

Pictures of when we lost teeth, when we got into fights, when we left primary school. Holidays in France, in Belgium, in Germany.

Then, on the last page, there was a note.

_'Remember last Christmas, Jean? When we thought we were alone?_

_My mum took this picture. Usually, I'd be angry, but I'm happy she took this. I'm smiling again. I hope you're smiling too.'_

His tears stain the ink slightly, and mine do the same as I look at the last picture in the album.

It's us, standing in the doorway of his kitchen, with our arms around one another. His eyes are open, looking down at me, and mine are closed in a laugh. Our cheeks are flushed as we grin together. We're not kissing, but it's what was left over from it. Somehow, I like that more.

I'm still crying, but I smile.  
It may have been a Dr Seuss quote he said, but it mattered.  
He may have had depression, but he died happy.

Tears fall onto the picture as I laugh, his mother probably wondering what I find so funny.  
I don't find anything funny, per se. I'm just glad I was friends with that idiot.

"Goodbye, Sunshine."


End file.
